


downpour

by doxian



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Kissing, M/M, POV Second Person, Post-Canon, Rain, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:55:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4837733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doxian/pseuds/doxian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suga and Kageyama seek refuge from the rain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	downpour

**Author's Note:**

> finished late for HQ!! Setters Week day 4: storm.

When the rain starts coming down it's cold, sudden, and torrential. 

You jog back to Suga's - his suggestion, since his place is closer - but by the time you get there you're both completely drenched. While Suga heads to the bathroom to grab some towels, you toe your shoes off and hover awkwardly in his doorway, dripping on the emerald green welcome mat, not wanting to get more water on Suga's floor than there already is. 

Suga re-appears in a moment and laughs at you. 

"Tobio, you know you can come in, right? Or were you planning to stand in the hallway and air-dry?" 

The gently mocking comment might have irritated you coming from anyone else, but since it's Suga, it's alright. 

He yanks you over the threshold, immediately reaching up to throw a towel over your head, vigorously scrubbing your hair dry. You protest weakly, eventually obtaining control of the towel and drying your hair at a less painful intensity. 

As you pull the front door behind you, you realize that you've never actually seen Suga's apartment before. You'd known that he went to school in Tokyo, of course - you'd looked him up almost as soon as you moved here for university yourself. The two of you had seen each other plenty of times since then, even going on these morning runs several times a week, but somehow you'd never visited him. 

It's messier here than you would have expected. Suga’s kitchen is open, facing a living-slash-dining room. There’s a stack of unwashed dishes in the sink, including a saucepan coated thickly with something dark, viscous and dangerous-looking, possibly a recipe experiment that resulted in spectacular failure. The surface of the tiny dining table - a nondescript, wooden thing that looks like it could _maybe_ fit two people around it, albeit at a tight squeeze - is barely visible under a pile of unopened mail. 

Suga is rubbing his own hair dry and saying something about changing clothes, but you’re distracted by the way his wet T-shirt is sticking to his back. 

“What?” 

“I said, you’re free to use the shower, if you want. And I’m not sure how well they’ll fit you, but I can lend you some of my clothes, too.” 

He looks over his shoulder at you. His tone is amused, like he can tell what you were thinking about. That can't be possible, though - your face is tightened up into a frown right now, you can feel it. 

You say no to the shower but yes to the change of clothes, stepping into Suga's bedroom to towel the rest of yourself off and change. 

Being in Suga's bedroom is strange enough as it is, but the bathroom being just across the hall makes it even worse. It's so close that you can hear the clatter of the shower curtain and the rush of water as Suga turns the shower on. 

(You remember Suga saying something about a roommate, but they've either already left for the day or they're still asleep, because you haven't heard them make a sound since you got here.)

This room definitely looks more "Suga" to you. The bed is neatly made, and there's a rug on the floor in a striking shade of blue that you think suits him. Everything smells clean and fresh: a combination of laundry straight out of the dryer and the grass and trees in your neighborhood park at springtime. The scent intensifies when you pull on the shirt he'd handed you - some plain T-shirt with a logo that you don't recognize on the front. You tug up the neck so you can stick your face in the fabric and take a deeper sniff, filling your nose with it. You briefly wonder what it's like to lay in Suga's bed - it probably smells just as nice as his clothes do - but you push the idle thought firmly aside. Shoving your face into somebody else's pillow without asking is probably a rude thing to do. 

You re-emerge in the T-shirt and a pair of track pants, crumpling up your soaked clothes into a ball. Even though the T-shirt seems bigger than what Suga usually wears, it's still a little too small on you, stretching tight across your chest and sides. And the pants show a little more of your ankles than they should.

Oh well. It's just until you get home. 

You wander back into the living room/dining room/kitchen, shoving your clothes into your equally soaked backpack and pulling up a chair at the tiny dining table. You're very aware of the shower still running, the sound of it mingling with the rain.

Thankfully, Suga comes back out a few minutes later, wearing a fresh set of clothes himself. A complicated expression makes its way across his face when he looks at you. You're confused about this for a second, but then you remember how ill-fitting his clothes are.

"Are you sure it's fine for me to borrow these? I can just wear my own clothes," you say. 

Suga laughs weakly.

"Don't be silly, it's no trouble. Besides, you might get sick if you wear wet clothes... Hey, I'm going to make myself some tea, I think. Do you want anything to drink?" 

You ask for a glass of milk. 

Suga puts the kettle on for himself, searching for a clean cup and fussing with sugar and packages of tea. (You think you count at least five different boxes.) Once everything is ready, he sits in the chair opposite you and makes a flippant comment about one of the people you'd passed on your run, making you smile. 

It's quiet aside from the rain pattering rhythmically against the window. The glass is all fogged up from condensation, and the early morning light that filters through is thin and wan. 

Suga sips his tea. You drink your milk. It feels perfectly natural to sit here and chat about nothing, but there's also a new, specific kind of tension crackling through the air like static. It's in the soft way Suga looks at you; in the way he doesn't seem to mind bumping his foot against yours every time he shifts, or how both your legs are uncomfortably crowded into the narrow space under the table. 

Eventually, Suga's steady flow of conversation comes to a stop, and you sit in comfortable silence for a few moments as the daylight shines a little brighter, a little warmer. 

"I should probably start heading home," you say, even though you don't really feel like leaving.

The rain has diminished from a storm to more of a light shower, but Suga lends you an umbrella anyway, walking you down to the front of his apartment building. He stands under the awning as you click the umbrella open and step out into the deluge.

The oddly tense atmosphere has followed you both down the stairs and out the door, curling around your shoulders and making your skin tingle. You feel like you should say something (aside from "goodbye"), but you're not sure what. 

Suga appears to be thinking along the same lines as you. He's hovering in the entryway, an evaluating expression on his face, and you both end up speaking at the same time - "Suga-san, can I ask you a question?" you blurt out, right as he says, "Tobio?" 

"Yes?" You answer. Suga looks amused again. "You go first--"

He steps forward and kisses you before you can completely get the words out. 

You're so taken aback that you almost drop the umbrella, sending streams of raindrops cascading over your shoulders from the umbrella's edge, but you tighten your grip on the handle before it can fall to the ground. 

By the time you get the bright idea to actually _touch_ him with your free hand instead of letting it hang uselessly at your side, he's already pulling away. He doesn't get very far, though - you immediately lean down and kiss him again, almost bumping noses in your hastiness.

It's deeper, this time. His mouth is warm and he tastes like black tea and cinnamon and honey. 

You're not sure exactly how long you stand there kissing - long enough for you to discover how the downy hair at the nape of his neck feels against your fingertips, for sure, and what sorts of noises he makes if you kiss him a little harder. 

When you break apart, Suga's hand is fisted in your - _his_ \- shirt, and your heart is racing like you've just set the ball for a match-winning spike. 

"So. What did you want to ask me?" Suga runs his hand along your chest, smoothing away non-existent wrinkles. There's a light, unsteady quality to his voice, like when he's just finished a game. You're a little proud of yourself because of it.

"I was going to ask if you'd like to go out to dinner with me." You pause, not sure whether you're being clear enough, so you cough and tack on, "As in, go out on a date."

Suga _beams_ at you. The dimple in his left cheek flashes for a second before vanishing again. 

"Of course!" 


End file.
